


Who Let the Dogs Out

by Hidden_Pineapple



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Season 3, Shiba!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 11:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hidden_Pineapple/pseuds/Hidden_Pineapple
Summary: Stiles gets turned into a dog, and Derek is left with taking care of him.





	Who Let the Dogs Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spokenitalics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spokenitalics/gifts).



“You know, everything was fine up until the point where you maimed their leader.”

Stiles couldn’t understand why Scott was groaning; he was only stating the simple truth. Derek didn’t reply, but it was visible from the set of his shoulders that he wasn’t happy. When was that guy ever happy, though?

“I mean, you could have done literally any other thing, and we could have –”

“Stiles,  _ shut up, _ ” Derek barked.

They’d gone to meet them; the new pack in town. From what Stiles could gather, they were just passing through, but Derek didn’t seem to have perceived it in the same way. One moment they were talking peacefully with Scott, and the next, Derek had three claws through the woman’s throat. She’d coughed, spattering blood on Stiles’s face and making him close his eyes. He guessed he was grateful for that: not seeing the moment when her esophagus got separated from the rest of her body.

“Scott? Anything to say here?” Stiles turned, asking for help. Surely Scott saw the madness of pissing off every single werewolf they came across, and everyone else for that matter. Derek was generally a very off-pissing guy.

Scott merely looked at him with those sad brown eyes, shrugging lightly as if that had him excused for leaving his best friend to fend for himself. They stood in silence as Derek opened the door to his loft, stepping ahead rather than letting them in first.

“Why are we here again?” Stiles asked, slinging off his backpack and leaving it by the door as he looked around himself. This was the first time they’d been at Derek’s new place.

“Because I’m gonna need Scott’s help to remove the nails lodged in my back.”

“Oh, my sweet nephew, I would have done it if you’d asked.”

Stiles jumped back, flailing, and Scott tensed up next to him. “What’s he doing here?” Scott’s light snarl was audible in his voice.

“He’s family,” Derek said tiredly, already half-way through carefully removing his jacket. He didn’t sound very confident in his statement, though.

“Oh, it’s simpler than that,” Peter started, walking closer to Stiles, tilting his head in an extremely off-putting manner. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Would have been literal in this case. Wouldn’t that have been poetic?” He stared into Stiles’s eyes without blinking, and Stiles couldn’t help the wave of disgust mixed with fear that rolled through his stomach. 

“Your body in an unmarked grave would have been more poetic,” Stiles said lowly.

Peter tilted his head the other way, and his eyes glinted dangerously. Stiles could hear the unmistakable sound of claws coming out, and glancing down, he saw Peter’s fingers tensed up and ready to strike. His hand was still at his side, but Stiles knew from experience that he’d never even see it coming.

“Peter,” Derek said in a tired voice, and Peter’s shoulders lowered.

“Right,” he replied, leaning forwards to straighten Stiles’s jacket, even though it hadn’t been disturbed in any way. “I’ll be on my way, then. Got some business to attend to.”

Stiles closed his eyes, breathing slowly to calm his racing heart. He hated the fact that Peter still had the power to make him terrified. He thought he heard him pause by the door before leaving, but denied Peter the pleasure of turning around to check, instead focusing back on the case in point. “I’m just gonna come out and say it, ok? I think letting your murdering psychopathic uncle stay in your apartment is an impressively bad idea.” He waited for a reply, but none came, so he decided to drop the subject. “Ok, but seriously, we need to talk about your less than excellent decision making in the field.”

“Maybe not now?” Scott tried, first trying to help Derek lift his T-shirt off, but then giving up the effort entirely and ripping it apart instead.

Stiles walked around the table, standing at their front instead, so he wouldn’t have to look at the bleeding fingernails embedded in Derek’s middle trapezius. Scott grabbed Derek’s shoulder, holding it still as he grabbed the first nail.

“How did those even come off? Know what, never mind, I don’t actually want to know. But yes, now. This is parenting 101; always correct your child the moment they’ve done something wrong, and not later, or they’ll never connect the transgression with the consequence. Simple psychology.”

Scott ignored him completely, but Derek took a moment from grinding his teeth in pain, to glower at Stiles.

Unaffected, Stiles grabbed a chair, and sat down in front of him. “You know, I appreciate everything you’ve done, I really do. And I respect your right to make independent decisions. You’re a grown man, it’s only fair. But some of us, namely  _ moi _ , are less inclined to heal from stabs, bites, and other potentially fatal wounds.”

Derek had his eyes closed, and if Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d think he was praying.

Stiles leaned forward slightly. “I don’t want to guilt trip you, but I really would appreciate it if you could consider my mortality before engaging peaceful, friendly entities.”

Derek still sat with his eyes closed, barely wincing as Scott pulled out the claws, one by one. “That’s the last one,” he declared at last, and Derek got out of his seat.

He looked at Stiles then, with something strange in his eyes. “They weren’t friendly.”

“What?” Stiles asked, just as Derek turned and started towards the stairs.

Derek stopped with a foot on the first step, but didn’t look at Stiles as he spoke. “She was about to attack you. Hence the maiming.”

Stiles looked between Derek and Scott. “I – was she really – Scott, is that true?”

Scott shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Something didn’t smell right, but I couldn’t tell what.”

“Holy God, I almost died,” Stiles said, leaning onto a kitchen chair for support, but managed to stumble over his own feet and almost fall. He opened his mouth to say something smart to Derek; apologize or say thank you, preferably both, but Derek was already at the top of the stairs. Just as well, because he couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to say.

 

Contrary to most of the times Stiles went anywhere with Scott and Derek, it was only 7 in the evening when he got home to an empty house. He went into his room without checking the living room; his dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway, so he must still be at work. He found a bag and began packing for the weekend with angry, jerky movements.

They’d made it to the final of the summer state lacrosse tournament, and the match was in a town a way off. Stiles thought it was a little weird, having the final a good two weeks after the semester had started, but a final was a final, and they didn’t get to play too many of those. They’d be leaving after school the next day, and figuring it would be easier to just bring everything along in the morning and not have to make the trip back home, Stiles chose to pack now.

When he was done, he unpacked his lunch box and water bottle from his backpack. “Friendly, peaceful entities,” he muttered to himself as he rooted through the contents, looking for the apple he was sure he’d put in there that very morning. “Thanks a lot, Scott, try not to be so loud when you speak up.” His hand connected with something, and he dug out the apple triumphantly, only to discover that it was most decidedly not the apple he’d packed that morning, but one from at least a week earlier. “Ew, gross.” He threw it at the garbage can by his desk, but missed it by a foot. It landed with a magnificent squelch on the floor.

Stiles sighed exasperatedly. “Wow. Good one, Stilinski. Is there anything you’re good at in this world, apart from sarcasm?” He went over to pick up the apple, and wiped his hand on an old T-shirt, feeling more than a little disgusted.

He sat down heavily on the bed, head resting for a moment in his hands. “Consider my mortality. Seriously. Why can’t I ever shut up?” He thought back to the moment when Derek had gotten out of his seat after having the claws removed, and wondered if the weird look in his eyes wasn’t loathing. It certainly wasn’t disappointment; he’d seen that look one times too many from his dad to not recognize it.

Stiles sighed yet again, falling back on his bed. He closed his eyes tight, digging the palms of his hand into them, willing the image of Derek to go away. It didn’t.

“What is wrong with me,” he muttered angrily, realizing that even as it had happened, even as Derek had gotten out of his seat, muscles tense and straining, Stiles’s eyes had dropped to look at his half-naked form. “How do I keep fucking everything up?” Their conversation had gone about as well as every other conversation they’d ever had; for some reason, it seemed to always derail into scowls, angry shouts, or Stiles just plain mucking it up.

Groaning, he sat back up, shook his head, and went back to searching for the apple. He knew his dad would bring dinner from the food cart at the plaza, but nearly getting killed, and then further derailing his poor rapport with Derek, had him feeling a little peckish. He stuck his hand back into the backpack, muttering to himself as he did. “If only I didn’t have to worry about the stupid stuff coming out of my stupid mouth.” Then his hand connected, and closing around the round form, he pulled it out.

Except it wasn’t an apple. It was an orb; smooth glass feeling heavy in his hand, and shapes of red swirling inside it. He stared at it in wonder. “What the—”

Then he watched it coming closer to his face, even though he wasn’t doing anything – it seemed like the room was shifting around him, everything growing bigger, and as he watched, the orb dropped to the floor with a clunk and rolled away.

 

Scott wasn’t angry with Derek, or with Stiles, or even with the pack they’d met that night. He was angry with himself. How could he miss the distinctive note of aggression in their scent? What if Derek hadn’t been with them, what then? Would Stiles even be alive right now? Probably not. How could Scott relax when he wasn’t even capable of protecting his best friend?

He had to admit; the fact that Allison had returned to Beacon Hills and not even sent him a text, stung quite a bit. He’d thought it would get easier with time, but it didn’t. He was right back to where he started, unable to think about anything other than her. Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t picked up on the imminent attack – he was distracted by his own thoughts. Pining over his ex had become near fatal for his best friend.

Trying to distract himself, he focused on packing for the weekend. He still couldn’t believe they’d made it to the final part of the tournament. When coach had insisted they keep playing volunteer matches throughout the summer to keep up their form, he hadn’t thought it would lead anywhere. Half the team had bowed out, deciding to take the time off instead. Leading the rest of them without Jackson to help had been a challenge.

Scott was in the middle of digging through his drawers for clean underwear when he heard something that made him pause. He went over to the window and pulled it open.

Outside, down on the lawn, stood a Shiba dog.

Scott stared at it, and startled when it barked again. Frowning, he went downstairs, finding the dog waiting patiently on his doorstep. “Hey, what are you doing here?” Scott asked gently as he leaned down to look for a collar. It barked in reply, but sat still as he searched in the fur around its neck. “No collar, huh? Did you run away from home?”

The dog barked again, looking at him with dark brown eyes, panting with its tongue hanging out of its open mouth. Then it licked his face.

Scott scrunched his eyes up, unable to help his own laugh. “Whoa, you like me that much, do you?” He scratched the dog behind its ear, earning another lick. There was something familiar about its scent, but he couldn’t quite place it. “What do you say, let’s go to the animal clinic and see if someone hasn’t come looking for you, huh?”

The dog stared at him, cocking its head.

Scott got up, and stepped outside. The dog bound ahead of him, running back again when he remained by the door to lock it. When he was done, the dog walked happily in front of him, glancing back now and then to make sure he was following. By the sidewalk, Scott stopped, calling out after it. “Hey, where are you going? The animal clinic is this way,” he said while pointing. The dog came back, looking up at him, but staring at his hand rather than the direction he was pointing. “We gotta go this way,” Scott tried again, taking a step in the right direction. If only his mom had been home, they could have driven there instead.

The dog barked, sitting down firmly on its hindquarters.

“Come on, we have to go this way,” Scott repeated, looking expectantly at the dog. It stared up at him, and barked yet again. Casting a glance around, Scott realized that he didn’t have a leash, or any other way to guide it in the right direction. “OK, I’m sorry, but if you won’t walk on your own, I’m gonna have to carry you.”

The dog didn’t protest at all to Scott picking it up, its form not as heavy as Scott had expected. The second he started walking towards the clinic, though, it twisted in his arms, forcing its way out. Scott fought against it long enough to lean down so he wouldn’t drop it too far, then let it jump from his arms. “Come back!” He yelled after it as it took off running down the street in the other direction. He had half a mind to follow it, but decided against it, figuring it would turn up on someone else’s doorstep eventually.

 

It was one of those rare, peaceful moments in the loft, when Derek was out doing something else, and Peter had it all to himself. He loved those moments the most. The ones where he didn’t have to seem on his best behavior, trying to earn his nephew’s favor. It wasn’t that Peter disliked Derek, but he was a bit of a stickler, and if there was one thing Peter did not enjoy, it was groveling.

He heard the padding footsteps long before he heard the scratching sounds on the sliding door. Curious, he opened the door, looking out at nothing but empty air, and his gaze finally falling on the light brown fur of the creature before him. It stood rank and stiff, ears pointing up, following Peter with its eyes without blinking.

“Well, well, isn’t that an interesting shape to take,” Peter mused, bending down to look at the creature. “Cute.”

The dog growled lowly, baring its teeth.

“Oh, don’t be like that. You know I’ll have to respond, then.” Peter leaned forward just an inch, and let the anger inside him well up enough to show on his face – he returned the growl then, and the effect was instant. The dog whimpered, turned around, and ran off. Peter stared after it, expressionless, and was unsure if he was annoyed or amused. When he thought about it, he realized he was simply indifferent.

 

When sheriff Stillinski got home, it was already late evening. He put the bags of warm food down on the kitchen table, and cried into the hallway: “Stiles, dinner!”

He set about putting some groceries into the fridge, and found plates and cutlery in the cabinets, and as he sat down, it occurred to him that there was still something missing. “Stiles?” When there was no reply, he got out of his chair, and walked into his son’s room. There was no one there, but he’d left the window open to air the room out, and he must have been in a hurry, as there were clothes lying in a pile on the floor. He went over and shut the window, the cold breeze making him shiver. “Jeez, you’d think I never taught you anything,” the sheriff mumbled to himself as he bent down and picked the clothes up, ignoring the small pain in his back that had been nagging him lately. He shook the sweater and pants out, and just as he put them down on the bed, something fell out of one leg of the pants – a pair of boxer briefs. “Oh, come on.” He frowned as he tossed them in the hamper next to the door, shaking his head with resignation. “What’s this?”

As he’d leaned over to reach the hamper, a reflection of sunlight caught his eye. He bent down to pick up what looked like a massively oversized glass marble. He admired it for a moment, then shrugged in confusion, and put it on Stiles’s desk.

Back in the kitchen, he was just about to call his son when he noticed the sticky note on the fridge. “Out with Scott,” it read. The sheriff sat down to eat by himself. After a few minutes of pressing silence, he decided to push away the feeling of loneliness that threatened to overtake him by getting a beer from the fridge. Just as he opened the door, he heard something unfamiliar from outside – if he didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn it was a bark. He paused for a moment, but when he heard nothing, he continued with his business – but darn it, just as he closed the door, there it was again. He sat the beer down on the table, leaving his warm food to cool as he went to the door to check.

Outside, resting on the porch, was a very tired-looking dog.

“Hello there,” the sheriff said, glancing around to see if there was anyone with the dog. It appeared to be alone. “Who are you, now?”

The dog let out a small bark, but it didn’t sound aggressive. He approached it carefully, letting it nuzzle his hand before trying to pet it. It didn’t have a collar. He stood aimless for a second, trying to decide what to do. After a moment, he gave up, knowing he’d end up taking pity on the animal anyway. “Come on, let’s see if we can’t get you some food and water.”

The dog padded happily after him when he went back inside, and the sheriff closed the door to the dark night.

 

It didn’t take Scott very long to realize that something was horribly, terribly wrong. Stiles wasn’t in class, and Stiles was  _ always _ in class. Unless Scott had dragged him off to somewhere else, which he definitely hadn’t done this time. Stiles wasn’t picking up his phone, either, and after going outside to check after first period, Scott could conclude that his jeep wasn’t in the parking lot. Allison and Lydia hadn’t heard from him, either.

Skipping second period, Scott went to Stiles’s house, checking if he was there. No one answered the door, and all the windows were closed. Stiles’s jeep was parked there, however. Desperate, Scott tried the sheriff’s phone, but he wasn’t picking up. “Dammit,” Scott swore lowly to himself. Unable to think of what else to do, he went back to school, hoping Stiles was there somehow after all.

He wasn’t, of course. When they neared the end of the day, coach asked everyone to meet up in the locker rooms, giving them the details of who would be carpooling with who, and what time he expected everyone to be in the parking lot, and taking the chance to remind them all that they had better remember to bring their own gear – “I’m looking at you, Greenberg” – before dismissing them. Hoping for clues, Scott tore open the padlock on Stiles’s locker. The moment he did, though, the familiar scent of Stiles hit his nostrils –

And it reminded him of something else entirely.  _ The dog _ . Sometime had felt so strangely familiar about the dog. Its scent had been similar to Stiles’s. And its eyes – they had been the exact same shade of brown as Stiles’s. Scott shook his head; there was a limited number of shades to brown, and that really didn’t prove anything at all. How could Stiles even be a dog? Was that possible? Scott wasn’t sure, but he was getting really nervous about Stiles’s absence, and he’d take whatever clues he could find. So where was the dog now? He hadn’t seen it since it took off the day before but someone else might have had the same thought as him: to take it to the shelter. Stuffing Stiles’s things back into the locker, he checked his watch. He still had two hours until they were leaving.

When he got to the shelter, he’d managed to half convince himself of the looming new reality: Stiles was a dog. Stiles the dog would surely be at the shelter, having been brought in by some law-abiding citizen. Everything would be fine.

Except the dog wasn’t there. It only took a brief conversation with Deaton to confirm it; they rarely got in such a demanding breed as the Shiba, most dog-keeping people in Beacon Hills settling on Labradors or Collies.  _ It’ll be fine _ , Scott told himself.  _ There’s a solution, and I’m gonna find it, together with _ – together with whom, exactly? Or was it who? He didn’t know. Scott didn’t know anything. Stiles was the one to know stuff, the one to find solutions. How could he possibly expect Scott to figure it out on his own? Did Stiles know, as a dog, that his chances were close to none? That he was dependent on Scott’s problem-solving abilities? Then surely Stiles realized that he was doomed. Scott leaned against the wall, unable to hear Deaton’s words through the jumbled mess that was his thoughts.

Just as he was about to sag down in despair, the bell on the front door chimed. “Hello?” a voice called.

Scott recognized that voice; it was the sheriff. He was at the front desk before Deaton even had a chance to move. And sure enough, there, cradled in the sheriff’s arms, was Stiles the dog. Scott thought he might start crying.

“Scott,” the sheriff said, surprise in his voice. “This guy showed up on my porch last night. I thought maybe you’d know who he belonged to.”

Scott nodded eagerly, holding his hands out to accept the dog. The sheriff remained, standing a little awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. “Hey, you haven’t heard from Stiles lately, have you? I didn’t see him this morning, and he’s not answering his cell.”

“Oh,” Scott started, quickly finding his words. “He stayed at my place last night. He’s at school right now. I’m gonna come by to pick up his gear later, he’s busy with a project.”

“Oh, OK,” the sheriff said, nodding slightly. “Well, tell him I said hi. And to charge his phone.”

“I will, sheriff Stillinski. Don’t worry about it.”

The sheriff nodded once more, and then stepped close, patting the dog carefully on its head. “Well, good luck with this guy, and have a good time at the game. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, see you,” Scott replied, watching the sheriff leave, but not hearing the chime of the bell over the dog panting in his ear. Scott glanced down on it. “Now, what to do about you?”

Disappointingly, there was no reply.

 

Derek usually trusted Scott. He was a surprisingly level-headed teenager. However, no one could blame him for being a little skeptical as Scott stood before him, a small dog resting in his arms. “You’re saying this – this dog, right here – is Stiles?”

Scott nodded eagerly. “I mean, I don’t know how or why, but I’m absolutely sure this is him. Or at least almost.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “This is Stiles. You’re serious. You can see why I have some trouble believing that, right?”

Scott looked away for a moment, and by the shine in his eyes, Derek started wondering if he was close to tears. “Look,” Scott started, gazing at Derek with pleading eyes. “I just spent the whole day searching for Stiles, and then his dad comes in with this dog,” he shook the dog lightly for emphasis, “which also happens to have come by my house last night. Stiles is nowhere to be found, he’s not picking up his phone, and the dog –” Scott hesitated.

“What?” Derek demanded when he didn’t continue.

“It smells like him.”

Derek stared at him, dazed, then glanced over at the dog. It couldn’t be.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I just got yelled at by the coach for telling him Stiles is sick, Allison and Lydia laughed in my face when I tried to tell them about Stiles, and I just lied to his dad, saying he stayed at my place last night. I need to be at the school parking lot in half an hour, and I still need to stop by Stiles’s house to pick up his things and keep up the ruse. Help,” Scott said finally, thrusting the dog towards Derek.

He stared at it skeptically for another second, then, noticing Scott’s begging eyes, he sighed and accepted it. It didn’t matter if the dog really was Stiles or not. What mattered was that Scott believed it.

“Thank you,” Scott said, already running down the hallway. “We’ll figure this out when I get back on Sunday!”

Derek sighed again, holding the dog under one arm and rubbing at his eyebrow with the other hand. It was gonna be a long weekend.

 

Scott felt like shit for leaving Stiles as a dog, but he didn’t have much choice. He’d committed to leading the team, and lead the team he would. Stiles would be fine with Derek. He hoped. Even if he had stayed, he wouldn’t know where to start to go about fixing this, anyway. He needed some time to think. If he was lucky, Derek might have figured it out by the time he got back. Or maybe he was entirely wrong, and Stiles would have turned up someplace else, and the dog was just a dog.

“Oh, hey Scott,” the sheriff said as he opened the door.

“Hey. I’m just here to pick up Stiles’s stuff.”

“Yeah, sure, come on in.” He stepped aside.

Scott hurried into Stiles’s room, with no more than fifteen minutes to go until they were leaving, and at least eight minutes away from school if he sped. Lucky for him, Stiles had already packed all his stuff. He grabbed it, stopped only for a second to glance at the large marble lying on Stiles’s desk, then made his way back out.

“Since you’re here, I was just wondering if you could tell me something,” the sheriff said, just as Scott was on his way out of the door.

“Yes?” Scott replied, hoping the sheriff would be brief.

“What happened with the dog?”

Scott stared at him, unsure what to reply.

“I don’t mean to pry, I’m sure you have some sort of confidentiality contract about your work at the clinic, but…there was something about that dog. I don’t know what. Something about its eyes.”

“It was returned to its owner,” Scott replied at last. Though he obviously couldn’t tell the sheriff about Stiles, to explain why he wasn’t answering his phone, he could at least give him this relief.

“Oh, ok. That’s good. Could I ask who it was? It didn’t have a collar or anything, so I was a little curious.”

Scott made a minute decision. “Derek Hale. It’s Derek’s dog.”

The sheriff looked surprised, but he didn’t say anything, instead nodding.

“But I gotta go now. Have a nice weekend, sheriff Stillinski,” Scott said, and started down the steps.

“Yeah, you too,” the sheriff said, sounding distracted.

 

Derek stared at the dog. It barked once, loudly, and Derek startled. He wasn’t proud of it, but it really was shocking how much sound this tiny thing could produce.

“Are you Stiles?” he asked, staring expectantly at it. He was hunched down on the floor, crouching in front of it to be on eye-level with it.

It barked. Not exactly an unambiguous response.

Derek sighed. “Ok, how about this: blink once for yes, and twice for no.”

The dog kept staring at him, panting with its mouth open. Then it barked again.

“Ok, let’s try again. Are you Stiles?”

The dog blinked.

“Yes! That’s a yes.”

The dog barked once more.

“You do realize it could be a false positive, right?” Peter said from the couch, stretched out with a newspaper in front of his face. “Try asking it something Stiles would reply no to.”

“Are you older than me?” Derek said, directing his attention back to the dog. It blinked, then barked yet again.

Derek groaned.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Derek said smugly.

“But why is it  _ barking _ ?” Derek said angrily. As if prompted, the dog gave another shout. At first, he’d ignored it, and gone back to his reading. However, it kept giving out these singular yelps, and in the end, it became too annoying to ignore. Then he’d tried giving it water, which it showed absolutely no interest in. Next, he’d tried putting it out on the patio, thinking it might want some fresh air. It kept barking outside as well, but more frequently than when it was inside. “What do you want from me?” Derek asked the dog desperately.

“It might be hungry. Maybe you should go to the store and buy some dog food.”

Derek sent Peter a nasty glare, but ignored what he said. The dog barked again, and Derek closed his eyes.

“Ok, I think I’m gonna head out for a bit. Too many canines in this den,” Peter proclaimed, newspaper crunching as he folded it together and got out of the couch.

With his eyes still closed, Derek could hear the door open and close. Waiting a few moments, he realized the dog had fallen blissfully silent. “That’s all it took, huh? Peter leaving?” Derek laughed briefly. “Perfect.” He went back to his seat, picking up his book where he’d left off. Then, two sentences in –

“God dammit, will you be quiet!” Derek shouted, fixing the dog with his glare. The dog blinked its eyes at him, and Derek let the wolf in him show through his eyes. To his shock, the dog simply stared at him, and barked yet again.

Derek fell back in his seat, all the fight going out of him. In stunned silence, he accepted the inevitable truth – it really was Stiles. He was the only one dumb enough to not shy away from Derek’s glare.

Accepting his fate, Derek got out of his seat, and picked up the dog. “Let’s go to the store.”

 

Stiles sat patiently at the front of his cart, as Derek wheeled it around in the surprisingly large pet store. He didn’t know Beacon Hills had enough pet owners to warrant this sort of magnitude for a specialist shop. He stopped by the rows and rows of various dog food, and turned his head from side to side, trying to take it all in. How was he supposed to choose between all these varieties? Could he just pick one at random? For some reason, he doubted it.

He picked down two different bags from the shelf, and held them out in front of Stiles. “These look good?”

Stiles stared at him without comment, then tilted his head slightly.

“Yeah, you probably know about as much about this as I do,” Derek mumbled to himself. Stiles had only been a dog for a day, how would he know what dog food was good and not?

A friendly feminine voice brought him out of his thoughts. “You need any help?”

Derek turned, and stared at the tiny woman in front of him, who was also wheeling a cart.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but notice you asking your dog, and that was just really sweet,” she said, smiling. “I could help you pick something out, if you like. My brother has a dog of the same race, so I know a little about them.”

Derek nodded, unsure what to say.

“Ok, so is your dog more of a meat-lover or a fish-lover? Or vegetables?”

“Um…” Derek said intelligently, very unsure what to answer. “I don’t know,” he admitted, realizing he actually didn’t know this about Stiles. Stiles the dog might have a different opinion on the matter than Stiles the person, though. “I got him today,” Derek explained, not wanting to seem like a complete fool.

“Oh, ok, you should maybe try one of each, then,” she smiled, and went a few feet to the left to pick down some different bags. “These should fit the size of your dog.” She went over to his cart, and placed them carefully inside. “What’s his name?” she asked, looking up at Derek as she petted the dog.

Derek blinked at her, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “Stiles,” he replied at last.

Her eyebrows raised for a fraction of a second. “That’s a very uncommon name,” she commented diplomatically. “You should come to the park tomorrow, we’re a group of pet owners who meet there at noon.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s gonna work,” Derek said, then promptly grabbed his cart and wheeled it off, leaving the woman in stunned silence.

When he rounded the corner and was halfway down an aisle two rows over, his rapidly beating heart finally started to calm down. How could a normal human being intimidate him so much? Derek glanced down at Stiles, and thought that if he’d been able to talk, he’d have a few choice words about the matter. Derek rolled his eyes, not knowing what Stiles would have said, but knowing that was how he would react. Turning slightly, something next to him caught his eye. Scarves. Derek stopped, looking at them. Stiles seemed to be staring up at them as well. Derek picked down a green one with a pattern, and held it out in front of Stiles. “How’s this?” Stiles barked once, sounding pleased. Derek put it in the cart, then moved on to the shelf with leashes. “Definitely gonna need one of those,” he mumbled, and put that in as well. Next he got food trays, a dog bed, chew toys, and at last, he stopped in front of the disposable bags for picking up dog poop. He stared at it for a long time, before grudgingly taking one, and as he saw the look Stiles was giving him, mumbled a single “shut up”.

 

Back home, Derek unpacked all the newly bought items, and filled the bowls with fodder and water. Stiles ate greedily, and Derek had to admit that Peter was right. Thankfully, Peter wasn’t there, so he wouldn’t have to put up with his inflated ego.

After eating, Stiles padded over to the dog bed that Derek had put by one of the walls, and laid down. He seemed to doze at first, but eventually Derek heard his breathing stabilize, punctuated by small snores.

Thankfully, Stiles stayed quiet the rest of the night, giving Derek some much-needed peace of mind. The only exception was when Peter returned, and Stiles perked up, watching him carefully – and Peter took them both by surprise, by picking up the chew toy and started playing with the dog. Derek watched in amazement as they rolled on the floor, Peter sounding more enthusiastic than Derek had heard him since he came back to Beacon Hills.

It was late in the night before Derek decided to go to bed, Peter disappeared an hour ago, and Stiles lying motionless on the dog bed, but eyes wide open. It was raining outside now, the heavy droplets hitting the glass of the panorama window. Derek usually found rain to be sad and depressing, but now it only made him calm. “Goodnight,” he said quietly to Stiles. The dog simply gazed at him, watching him go up the stairs.

A mere five minutes later, he heard the muted clicking sound of paws against wooden floors. He’d left his door an inch open, something he never did, so he thought that at the back of his mind, he must have thought this was a possibility. He didn’t get up as the dog entered his room, and he didn’t get up as its head rested briefly on the mattress of his bed. He thought about telling the dog it could lay on the carpet on the floor if it wanted to stay with him, but then he realized the dog didn’t understand what he said anyway, so there wouldn’t be much point to it. Somehow it seemed to understand his wishes even without him voicing them, as its head disappeared, and he heard it walk around for a bit before settling down on the floor next to his bed. “Goodnight, Stiles,” Derek said quietly out into the dark. There was no reply.

 

When Derek woke up, it was from dog slobber on his face, and paws on his chest. Groaning heavily, he shoved Stiles off, and got out of bed. Derek wasn’t really one to sleep in, but he wasn’t much of a fan of getting up at dawn, either – not when he went to bed well after midnight. However, Stiles was back to barking loudly, and staying in bed did not seem to be an option. Downstairs, he filled up Stiles’s food and water bowls, and made a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal for himself. Peter appeared just as Stiles started barking again. “What more do you want from me,” Derek said exasperatedly at the dog.

Peter chuckled. “It’s a dog. He probably needs a walk.”

Derek groaned, then had to admit Peter was probably right. Grudgingly, he fastened the leash on Stiles, and stepped outside.

He briefly considered bringing the dog to the nearby park, but then remembered the woman from the pet store, and decided to stay clear of the area in general. Instead, they walked around the block. Even as a werewolf, Derek could not understand how Stiles found the need to sniff and piss on every single object they passed.

Just as he thought that, the dog stopped in its tracks. Derek glanced at it, then tried yanking the leash a little bit. It would not budge. “What’s wrong?” Derek asked in confusion. Then, staring Derek in the eye, it squatted down, and –

Derek turned away. “Jesus Christ.”

When the dog was done, Derek stared at the happily bounding dog with a mix of disgust and bitterness. He spared a moment to stare angrily at the dog, then bent down and picked up the poop in one of the disposable bags he’d had the foresight of bringing along. “I hate my life and every single decision that has brought me to this moment,” Derek said to the dog as they continued walking. The dog glanced up at him, looking very pleased.

 

When Derek and the dog returned, Peter observed as Derek finally sat down to start researching how Stiles came to be a dog. He didn’t ask Peter for help, though. Pride goeth before a fall and all that stuff. Ignoring his stubborn nephew, he decided to play with the dog instead. It was surprisingly pleasant, to wrestle with the hairy creature on the floor, seeking dominance over the chew toy. Peter was not exaggerating when he said that this form was significantly preferable to the boy’s normal one. Not only because he couldn’t talk Peter’s ears off, but also because he didn’t have to watch the ridiculous interactions between the boy and Derek. Peter was a tolerant guy, but he had his limits. A little tolerant, at least. At times. He scratched the dog’s belly, where it lay writhing on the floor as he petted it.

Derek got up, leaving for the bathroom.

Staring after him, Peter’s hand found its way up to the dog’s neck, scratching at first, then gently pressing into its throat. He wondered how easily he could make it look like an accident. Not strangulation, for sure, unless…the leash, maybe? No, it would be easier to have it run out in front of a car. His thoughts were interrupted by the dog’s pathetic whines, and Peter thought he was filled with disgust – but instead, he felt something else entirely. He pitied the dog. He even cherished the softness of its fur, and the warmth of its nuzzle. He released the dog, and it ran off, whimpering behind the couch.

 

Derek didn’t know why, but Stiles had been trailing between his feet all day, laying to rest leaned into his leg underneath the table where Derek was seated, skimming through book after book, searching for clues. It was pretty obvious that it would be a lot more helpful if they could establish some sort of timeline for what had happened to Stiles that night, but Scott wasn’t picking up, and Derek wasn’t about to go ask the sheriff himself. Besides, Scott was probably the last person to see Stiles as a human, and the only one who could really give them any hints. His lack of reply, even to texts, was starting to agitate Derek quite a lot, the lack of direction in his so far futile search making him restless. Stiles had started whining again, too. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Stiles realized he couldn’t find anything to help him.

Making an impulse decision, Derek got out of his seat, and grabbed the leash. “Let’s go,” he said, and the dog followed without need for further prompting.

He placed Stiles in the passenger seat, rolling down the windows to get some air in. Though it had rained during the night, it was sunny and warm out now, and the car was stifling hot. As they drove through town, Stiles had his head out the window, tongue hanging out, eyes closed against the sun. Driving the car with the dog next to him, Derek felt something resembling contentment. When they got to their destination, Derek walked around to the other side, letting Stiles out onto the leafy forest floor. “Not gonna need this here,” Derek said, and leaned down to take off the leash he’d had on briefly for the walk to the car.

Stiles ran a few laps around the Hale property, while Derek walked slowly around, watching him with a small smile on his lips. The dog kept returning to him, teasing him to play. Derek laughed unbelievingly, then looked around, tossed his shirt off, and shifted.

They ran, tearing through the vegetated ground, jumping over fallen logs, and ducking under branches. They occasionally swatted at each other, wrestling on the ground the way dogs do, playing with each other. Deep down, Derek knew he should be ashamed, acting like a dog the way he was doing right now, but he couldn’t seem to care. For the first time in months, he felt free. There was no looming threat, no murdering relatives, no beta he needed to train, it was just them, running through the deserted woods.

Then Stiles tumbled magnificently into a pile of mud. Derek stopped, turning back to stare at him as the dog emerged from the brown liquid, sputtering as he got up. He was completely covered in the filth, the originally light brown color of his fur coat barely distinguishable under the grime. Just as Derek shifted, the dog decided to shake himself. Derek groaned, his carefree mood somehow both evaporating, and also partially staying behind. Though he didn’t quite understand it himself, he accepted it without examining it too closely.

Walking back to the car, Derek realized that using a leash was completely pointless. Stiles walked next to him regardless of him giving the command or not, and when they got to the car, he seemed perfectly capable of understanding it when Derek told him to sit on the carpet at the floor instead of in the seat. Hopeful, Derek decided to test his language skill once more – but, the dog seemed unable to blink twice upon his request, so unfortunately not.

Back at the loft, Derek decided to clean the dog first. By some miracle, he got him into the shower without having to wrestle him into it, and he carefully and time-consumingly rinsed its fur free of mud. Derek was expecting quite a bit more of a struggle throughout the process, but was positively surprised as Stiles sat completely still, letting Derek even put the nuzzle over his head, carefully making sure none of it streamed down into its eyes. For some reason, the dog seemed to put its full trust in him. When he was done, he stepped back to let the dog shake itself yet again, then dried off the rest with a towel, letting the dog trod off with a towel over its head before stepping into the shower to clean himself.

Derek could smell the food at the top of the stairs, though he couldn’t hear the sizzling from the pan until he got to the bottom of it. Curious, he found the source to be Peter. It happened, sometimes; Derek would walk in, and there was Peter, in the middle of something so strikingly normal that it would make Derek feel like he’d gotten turned around at some point.

“Take a seat, it’s almost ready,” Peter said when he noticed Derek’s presence. Stiles was lying patiently on the floor not too far away from where Peter stood, watching him attentively. Derek suspected him of only waiting for Peter to drop something on the floor, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

As Derek sat down by the table, he realized that it was already lain with plates and cutlery. He couldn’t remember the last time Peter had decided to cook dinner for the both of them. Stiles hopped onto the chair next to him, sitting prettily with his eyes still following Peter’s every move. Derek eyed him for a moment, wondering if he should shoo the dog down from the table, but when Stiles remained silent rather than start barking, he decided to let it slide for now.

Peter placed the frying pan on the table, steam rising from the freshly cooked food. It appeared to be some sort of wok. Derek sniffed it curiously, as Peter started dishing generous amounts onto their plates. Stiles remained still, now watching the food instead. It could have been mistaken for begging, but to Derek it seemed more like he wanted to participate in their rendezvous.

They started eating, and the silence stretched on. It was undeniably a little awkward. When Derek was picking up his fifth bite, Stiles gave a short bark, which made him startle and drop the food back onto his plate. Derek and Peter both stared at the dog, then looked at each other. “So, uh…how was your day?” Peter asked. He sounded about as out of his element as Derek felt, trying to come up with a response. “Well, alright, I guess, apart from the dog getting itself covered in mud and having to clean that up.”

Peter laughed shortly. “Yeah? Well, it’s been a boring day back here, just doing some reading and some vacuuming.”

“You vacuumed?” Derek said, staring at Peter in surprise.

“Dog hairs,” Peter whispered conspiratorially. “I didn’t think Shibas shed much, but what little there is certainly shows well on these floors.”

Derek shook his head with a smile, unbelieving. In one day, his uncle had cooked, cleaned, and not committed a single act of evil. Looking over at Stiles, Derek could see that the dog was happily looking between the two of them, completely quiet save for the sound of his wagging tail hitting the chair.

 

By the time evening fell, Derek’s mood had worsened considerably. He went to bed feeling frustrated. He was nearly through his entire library, and he hadn’t found a single thing about how someone could get turned into a dog, and certainly nothing about how to reverse it. At this point, he was half considering asking the Argents if they’d ever come across something similar.

Stiles padded in after him, and when Derek didn’t protest, he hopped onto the bed and lay down at his side.

“If only you could talk,” Derek said into the darkness. “Then you could tell me what happened to you. You’re the one with the ideas, you’d probably already have a solution lined up.” It was silent for a while, and then Derek started patting the dog. “You know, I thought it would be easier to talk to you when you weren’t constantly blabbering, but somehow, this is worse.” Derek looked down, seeing the dog’s eyes shimmer at him in the dim light coming in the window. His eyes looked so intelligent, but it didn’t matter. Stiles didn’t understand what he was saying. “I can talk at you, but I won’t get a reply. I never thought I’d say this, but –” he chuckled, “I miss hearing your voice.”

The dog huffed a breath, but didn’t otherwise reply. Derek felt sad, reminded even further at the impossibility of their communication. The dog snuggled closer, and they fell asleep like that.

 

When Derek woke up, the first thing he registered was how the daylight stung his eyes. Next, he wondered at how heavy his limbs felt as he dragged himself out of bed. He must have had a nightmare, because his sheets were damp from sweat, and the scent on his skin made him frown his nose. He took a shower, realizing that he was a lot more reluctant to get out from beneath the soothing hot spray than he usually was.

Derek was feeling depressed.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar emotion, but he couldn’t quite see what had triggered it – no one had been murdered, no one had tried to murder him, and he hadn’t been forced to murder anyone else. Neither had any major betrayals or deceits occurred, and he wasn’t currently blaming himself for any one else’s misfortune.

When he got down in the kitchen and saw the dog pad towards him from the dog bed, trailing around Derek’s feet as he walked and reaching up with his front legs on Derek’s thigh when he stopped, he understood why. He was pondering the prospect of Stiles never going back to human. It left him feeling empty, and a little angry. Everyone had regrets, but Derek never thought not confessing his feelings to a 17 year-old would be one of his. 

He poured dog food into one tray and filled the other one with water, then opened the door to the terrace. While waiting for Stiles to finish with his initial morning routines, which included eating, drinking, and chasing off the birds on the terrace, Derek looked out over the sea of books on his living room table, feeling even more dejected. Practically a library, with only about 15 books left to look through, and still nothing.

Stiles barked, pulling Derek from his thoughts. He looked down at the dog where it sat in front of him. “You want to go for a walk?” he asked, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him the words meant nothing to the dog as it barked, apart from the ability to connect the word ‘walk’ with what came next. He told himself that was ridiculous; Stiles had only been a dog for two days, there was no way he’d already learnt that, if he didn’t know it beforehand. Stiles was in there, for sure. He had to be.

 

When they got back, Peter was at the kitchen table eating breakfast, greeting them good morning, but otherwise ignoring them. Stiles went out on the terrace, staring out over the neighborhood, and Derek went back to his remaining books.

He closed the last page with a sigh, groaning, and digging his palms into his eyes, trying to rub away the frustration. Then Derek called Scott. He kept calling Scott, because he could think of nothing else to do, and there really were bigger things at stake here than some lacrosse game.

When Scott finally picked up, he sounded out of breath. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got nothing. We need to establish a timeline, figure out if he went anywhere, if his dad saw him, what he – “

Scott interrupted him. “Look, I’m really busy right now, can I call you back later?”

Derek took his phone away from his ear, and looked at it for a moment with indignation.

“You know he can’t see you, right?” Peter said from the spot on the couch that he’d moved to.

Derek glanced at him, but chose not to answer, instead addressing Scott. “Are you kidding me? You know there are more important things than teen sports, right?”

“Yeah, I know that, but –”

“No, no buts, this is serious! Stiles is a dog, and I have absolutely no idea why, and I’ve gone through every book I have and I’ve still got nothing! You do realize that if we can’t find some way to undo this, Stiles might be a dog forever, right?”

“He’s cute as a dog, though,” Peter added. Derek couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“I know, I’m sorry, we have to deal with this too, just give me a second to think –“ Scott sounded on the verge of tears.

“Scott. Calm down. Spiraling isn’t going to help anyone. Do you have his things?” Derek heard him take a few deep breaths.

“Yeah, I have his bag and his gear.”

“Search through it, see if you can find anything.” Derek stood facing the ceiling-high window, watching the dog where it lay resting on the terrace.

“What exactly am I looking for here?” Scott asked over the rustling sound of him going through Stiles’s bag.

“I don’t know,” Derek replied with a sigh. “Anything out of place, unfamiliar, suspicious…I honestly don’t know. I’m grasping at straws.”

“Nothing,” Scott said when he was finished. “Now what? His dad thought Stiles stayed with me that night, so he must have been gone when he got home. I think he’s usually home pretty late.”

Derek closed his eyes and tried to think.

“Derek?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said after a pause. “I don’t know.” The dog barked, making Derek open his eyes again. Then he heard Scott draw in a sharp breath. “What? Did you find something?”

“No,” Scott started, sounding excited. “But I saw something when I was in his room, some sort of orb, I don’t know what it was, but it was definitely weird – “

“An  _ orb _ ? Well what did it look like?”

Scott seemed to hesitate for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure, I only saw it for a moment, but it looked like a big orb. Red,” he replied.

“Red,” Derek repeated, already mentally going through all the books he’d read in the past two days.

“Maroon.”

Derek froze. “What did you just say?”

“Red,” Scott said on the phone.

“Not you,” Derek said into the phone, turning slowly towards Peter. Outside, Stiles perked his head up.

Peter glanced around himself. “Did I say that out loud?”

Derek put down the phone, stepping closer to the couch. “Speak.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter started, smiling in the deceiving way he usually did, holding his hands up. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

When he was close enough, Derek grabbed the front of Peter’s shirt, lifting him up from the couch. Peter’s hands wrapped around Derek’s arm, but didn’t try to wrestle him away.

“You knew,” Derek stated.

Peter glanced sideways. “Knowing is such a loose term,” he started.

“And you stood by, and said nothing.”

“Well, nobody asked me,” Peter shrugged.

Derek squeezed his fist, forcing a nasty sound from Peter’s throat. “I’m asking now. How do I change him back?”

Peter made another nasty sound, tapping Derek’s wrist with his hand, and Derek let up the pressure enough for him to speak. “No clue.”

Angered, Derek tossed him across the floor. Peter skid to a stop.

“But you know what the orb is? What it does?” Derek’s heart was beating frantically.

“Well, it’s…I’ll spare you of the details. It’s something I stumbled across on one of my travels. It’s a wishing orb.”

Derek frowned in confusion. “A wishing orb? How does that work?”

“It does what you ask of it. But like anything else that sounds too good to be true, it comes with a catch. It twists your words, giving unexpected side effects. Such as turning into a dog, I guess.”

“But how do I  _ reverse _ it?”

“I don’t know,” Peter replied, rubbing bitterly at his bruised throat. “It’s effects lasts until the wish has been fulfilled, as far as I know. Or until the wisher retracts it. I’m not sure, my ancient Sumerian is a little rusty.”

Derek closed his eyes, trying to not let his control slip as the waves of despair washed over him. There was nothing he could do. Stiles was stuck as a dog, until whatever stupid wish he’d made was fulfilled. He’d been alone; there was no way for them to know what he’d asked. As hopelessness washed over him, something clicked in his mind. “Wait,  _ something you stumbled across _ ? You caused this! You gave him the orb!” Derek’s voice rose steadily.

Peter was back on his feet. “Well, yes. But only for research. I wanted to study the effects of the orb, and –”

Whatever more he wanted to say, he never got the chance. Derek had turned, and lunged at him claws first. Peter dodged hastily, surprisingly light on his feet. He kicked Derek in the side, using the time Derek took to regain his footing for shifting as well.

Derek roared at Peter, and a moment later, they clashed.

None of them registered the light brown streak that went across the floor, or the sound of the hinged door as it was pried open.

Stiles ran, and didn’t look back.

 

Sheriff Stillinski opened his front door. He’d been drawn from the couch by the sound of scratching. Outside, he found the dog there again, whining. This time it wore a scarf, however. The sheriff leaned down to accept it into his arms, holding around it as it shook. “Hey, don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said soothingly. He stepped inside, closing the door, and sat back down in the couch with the dog. He petted it, stroking its fur, as it slowly calmed down.

Then he thought about what Scott had said, about Derek Hale being the owner. “We should probably get you back home, shouldn’t we?” he asked the dog. It licked him in the face, seeming happy now that it wasn’t shaking. “I think I’d better have a talk with your owner, don’t you?” The dog barked in reply. “Ok. Let’s go, then.” He picked up his phone, calling the station. “Hey, it’s me. I’m gonna need you to track down an address for me,” he said as he grabbed his car keys and let the dog out into the afternoon sun.

 

When he got to Hale’s apartment, however, the man looked like Stillinski had returned his demented old mother, and not his dog, with how relieved he was. The sheriff still had to tell him his mind – it just wasn’t responsible to leave the animal with such a seemingly careless owner. “I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but you really should keep closer watch over your dog,” the sheriff said as he handed the dog over. He felt a little uncomfortable at how the dog was squirming, fighting to get back down on the floor rather than stay in Derek’s arms. “Being a pet owner is a large responsibility, and should be taken seriously,” the sheriff finished, forgetting everything he’d thought he would say on the drive over here. Derek’s obvious relief had thrown him off – he didn’t exactly strike him as someone who didn’t care about his dog.

“Yes, I’m so incredibly sorry, and it won’t happen again. I can’t tell you how thankful I am you brought him back to me,” Derek replied. He looked almost half in tears. Then Derek opened his mouth as if to say something, but after a moment, closed it again.

The sheriff had been about to leave, but he hesitated. Derek clearly had something else he wanted to say, but had decided not to. “Here, take my card. If you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to call.” He handed it over, and shook Derek’s hand for good measure while he was at it. “Please take good care of him.”

Derek seemed on the verge of saying something, but again held his silence. Instead, he nodded with a solemn expression.

The sheriff left, ignoring the part of him that wanted to take the dog with him.

 

“Don’t leave like that, I worried sick about you,” Derek scolded the dog. It stared up at him as he talked. “I imagined you getting run over by some random car, and then what would Scott say?” Then Derek sagged, all the fight going out of him, at the realization that there was nothing they could do to turn Stiles back into a human, because they didn’t know what he’d wished for. He sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. Derek had banished Peter from the loft, and now he was alone, left with a dog, and no way to change him back. Derek wondered briefly if destroying the orb would undo its magic, but he realized that it might as well just make it permanent. Either way, he was too much of a coward to test it to find out.

“I’m useless, you know?” Derek said to the dog. “I can’t even protect my own pack, from enemies in my own damn house!” It stood over him, and at his words, it leaned down and nuzzled his limp hand.

Derek pulled away his hand. He looked away, falling silent.

Sunlight filtered in from the wall of windows, and the brightness and optimism of it felt wrong to Derek. There should be rain. Maybe a thunderstorm.

“I should have said something. While you were still a human.” Derek glanced over at the dog.

The dog stared back at him, offering no comforting words, and no way for Derek to know if his words were getting through to Stiles. He stared into those brown eyes – the same eyes that he’d looked into a million times, never feeling anything other than passion. Admittedly, 99% of the time that feeling was annoyance, but it was certainly passionate. Now the dog wouldn’t even bark back at him. Was Stiles fading? Was he becoming more and more dog as time went on?

“It’s no good that you can’t talk back, you’re giving me too much time to think. Until now, I’ve never even considered if it could be a mistake. I knew, of course, that I might lose you to some random enemy we stumbled across, and I knew, deep down, that if that happened, I would kick myself forever. But come on – you’re just a kid! How could I tell you how I felt?”

Derek looked up when he felt the small paw on his leg. The dog stared at him without blinking.

“You’re a kid, and an annoying one at that, but somehow you wormed your way into my heart.”

The dog put his other paw on Derek’s leg as well. Derek knew that he was rambling, but it didn’t matter.

“I never thought I’d feel anything again after Kate. And out of all the people it could be, I had to choose the 16 year old. I tried to suppress it, I swear – but the tension is there, whether I like it or not. You’re probably not even into men, but I’m gonna regret it forever that I didn’t even try.”

At some point, Derek’s vision had gone blurry. The ludicrousness of stating a dog’s sexuality didn’t escape him, however. It was funny, and he wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t.

“I’ve lost my entire family. The only living remainder is the psychopath who killed my sister, and tried to kill my friends on numerous occasions. You were the only one who spoke up against letting Peter live here, and of course, you were right. Why didn’t I listen to you more? Sure, you said a lot of dumb shit, but there were some real gems in there too, and –”

“Oh my  _ God _ , will you stop talking,” he suddenly heard. Derek looked up, and he had to wipe his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining it through his own tears – but no, that was definitely a very naked Stiles in front of him. 

“I’d hug you right about now because this is the first occasion where I don’t think you’d rip my throat out for even trying, if not for my incredibly profound nakedness.”

Derek’s hands grasped Stiles’s face before he had the time to think, holding him tight as he studied his face. “Stiles? Is it really you?”

Stiles’s eyes flickered from side to side. “Um, yes?”

“Oh, thank God,” Derek exclaimed, throwing his arms around Stiles’s neck and hugging him tightly. Then he realized what he was doing, and quickly backed away. He cleared his throat, about to say something about clothes, when Stiles spoke.

“That was nice.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, as Derek stared at Stiles with eyebrows raised, and Stiles looked away with an expression close to horror.

Stiles cleared his throat as well, sounding uncomfortable as he started speaking. “It’s just that I’ve been wanting to say that for a few days. Staying with you was nice.” Then he looked back up at Derek, meeting his eyes. “Really nice.”

Derek continued staring at him, still in awkward silence.

“So,” Stiles said, holding his arms out. “Is clothes still a thing, or no? The scarf is cute, but it’s a little too close to birthday suit for my comfort.”

“Yes,” Derek replied, getting a hold of himself, and getting up. “I’ll go get some upstairs."

 

“So, I talked to Scott, and he’s relieved to hear your back to normal.” Derek sat down on the couch next to Stiles, who was hungrily eating take-out pizza.

“Oh my God, human food, I’ll never give you up,” Stiles said, wiping his chin.

Derek watched him with a small amount of disgust, but then grabbed a slice for himself.

“So it was Peter all along, then?” Stiles didn’t sound very surprised.

“Yeah.”

“And my dad thinks I’m at the lacrosse game?”

“Yes.”

“And coach thinks I’m at home, sick?”

Derek nodded.

“That’s...a relief.”

Derek glanced at Stiles, noticing that something was off in his voice. “What?”

“Nothing,” Stiles replied quickly, shaking his head.

“No, seriously, what?” Derek couldn’t believe that after less than an hour of Stiles being back to human, he was already annoyed by speaking with him.

Stiles looked Derek in the eyes, obviously considering whether to speak his mind. Then he looked away, and sighed heavily. “It’s just that I was... _ gone _ , for a lack of a better word, and it didn’t change anything. The world didn’t stop spinning, no one freaked out, nothing. I didn’t think it would hurt, but it does.”

“No,” Derek interjected, “that’s not true. Ok, so the world kept going, but do you have any idea how freaked out Scott and I were?”

Stiles shook his head in reply.

“And the only reason more people weren’t freaking out, was because Scott was doing damage control on your behalf.”

Stiles didn’t reply, but he didn’t have too. He looked relieved, and that was enough.

There was a silence between them, as Derek contemplated just how much Stiles’s absence had affected him.

“So, you said some things earlier,” Stiles started, grinning at him.

Derek groaned, putting his face in his hands.

“Did you mean it?”

Derek glanced back up, seeing Stiles’s unsure expression. He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Stiles’s expression changed into smugness, as he nodded to himself. Derek could already tell that his ego would inflate to insufferable levels.

“I also meant it when I said that you’re a kid.”

Stiles scoffed. “Age is just a number.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, and Stiles flushed.

“So what’s your cutoff, then?”

He opened his mouth to reply with a quip, but then it struck him what Stiles was really asking. Derek stared at him surprise.

“What? You can’t blame a guy for trying,” Stiles shrugged, but he was blushing furiously, and looked more uncomfortable than ever.

Derek could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Fearful of what his next words might lead to, he decided to change the subject.

“So, what did you wish for? With the orb?”

Stiles looked away, but there was a wistful smile playing on his lips. “For something to help me watch my big, fat mouth. Guess nothing’s changed there, huh? I just keep stepping right into it.” His hands punctuated his words with angry, jerky movements.

He hadn’t hesitated before, but he certainly hesitated now. Then Derek thought about all the regret he’d felt the past two days, and decided to throw caution to the wind.

“Eighteen. That’s my cutoff.”

Stiles’s head jerked up, eyes widening. “I’ll be eighteen in...less than a year.”

Derek nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Stiles was back to looking smug, and with a small amount of dread Derek wondered just how much he was going to regret this.

“Know what? I’m gonna hold onto this.” He picked up the scarf from where it lay on the armrest of the couch, and tied it around his neck. “Can I rock it? I’m totally rocking it.”

In all honesty, he looked absolutely ridiculous, but Derek couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he wouldn’t regret it so much, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: https://florencedrunk.dreamwidth.org/1230.html  
> Took some freedom with the specifics of your prompt, but I hope you'll like it!
> 
> Many thanks to [littlestarfighter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlestarfighter) for beta-reading this ~


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